Their Majesties' Boots
by Song of Glory Won
Summary: In which the High and Just Kings and the Gentle and Valiant Queens learn that titles, like shoes, can sometimes fit more than one person.
1. 1 Magnificent

**Their Majesties' Boots**

_In which the High and Just Kings and the Gentle and Valiant Queens learn that names, like shoes, can sometimes fit more than one person._

* * *

**AN:** Yes, this is another four-and-one that tries to be cleverly disguised. Yes, I am ashamed at my apparent obsession with this form. No, I regret nothing. ;P

* * *

**Chapter ****1. _Magnificent_**

Edmund placed himself behind a desk, warily eyeing his opponent.

"A library is no place to quarrel. Have you no sense of propriety?" His gaze darted to the side in search of an escape route.

The face opposite his grinned wolfishly. "Oh, I have a _great _sense of propriety," he retorted, "which is precisely why I intend to convince you to conspire with me!"

"By the Lion's mane, you shall not!" Edmund backed up a few more steps.

"Two hours—that's all I ask!"

"_No_!"

"Imagine! The _glory_ of such a position!"

"Over my—oy!" Edmund gave a yelp as he tripped over a stack of dusty tomes and landed hard on the stone floor, "—dead body." He finished breathlessly, glaring defiantly up at the figure looming over him.

"But Ed!" Peter cried. "Just look at me!"

Edmund looked as commanded at his brother's red-splotched face and blistered arms. He shook his head. "I _told_ you it looked like poison ivy."

The High King did not appreciate the admonishment.

"Two hours, Edmund," he ground out between clenched teeth.

Edmund wavered. Peter seized his chance.

"Be me for just as long as the Terebinthian ambassador is here, and I swear I'll do anything you ask for—for a week!"

Born of desperation, the bribe was latched onto. Narnia's youngest king leaned forward. "Anything?" he said skeptically.

"Within reason," Peter hastily amended.

Edmund smirked and held out his hand, waiting for his brother to grasp it before hauling himself upright. "Two hours," he declared, "for one week. Deal."

He snatched the golden crown dangling from Peter's fingers and strode regally out of the library.

Peter had a feeling the smirk wouldn't last long when Edmund discovered the ambassador was carrying a request for the Just King's alliance by marriage to a Terebinthian princess.

He also had a feeling he had just condemned himself to a week of torture-by-younger-brother.

He planted his face in his hands and groaned, wondering how hard it could possibly be to get himself exiled for a few days.


	2. 2 Gentle

**Their Majesties' Boots  
**

_In which the High and Just Kings and the Gentle and Valiant Queens learn that names, like shoes, can sometimes fit more than one person._**  
**

* * *

**AN:** Yes, this is another four-and-one that tries to be cleverly disguised. Yes, I am ashamed at my apparent obsession with this form. No, I regret nothing. ;P

* * *

**Chapter 2. _Gentle_**

Peter knocked softly on the partly-open door before slipping through it. Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands twisted in her lap, back stiff as she obviously tried to hold her composure together. Sighing, Peter sat beside here and wrapped an arm around his littlest sister's shoulders.

"I don't understand," the young Queen said in a small voice. "I can almost—_almost_—forgive her for denying Narnia, but, oh Peter! She says she doesn't even remember _Aslan_!"

Pleading eyes looked into Peter's face, begging for an answer. His brows drew together as he tried to think of a way to explain what he knew in his heart.

"She's grieving, Lu," he finally said. "She loved Narnia and Aslan as much as we did, and…and she feels like He's sent her away…" he trailed off, knowing Lucy, with her heart full of faith, wouldn't understand. "Look," he tried again. "It hurts her, not being able to go back; and so, instead of hurting, she chooses to forget, and it's easier for her."

Lucy's eyes grew bright and she sniffed. "It's not easier for us."

Peter enfolded his sister in a close embrace and fought back his own tears.

"No," he said quietly, "no it's not."


End file.
